Addicted (The Addicted Series, #1)(92)

Leaving the community college, they were giving the test at, I looked around at the sunny Los Angeles sky. "I am going to miss you," I said, thinking of Chicago and the rumored miserable winters. Let's face it, a place doesn't get nicknamed "The Windy City" and have great weather. It was Sunday afternoon, and I didn't really have all that much more to do. I had to stop by my lawyer's office the next day before final close outs of Los Angeles, but that was it. I could honestly catch an evening flight from LAX to Chicago if I wanted to. If it wasn't that I knew Krystal would be working a shift at Alinea, I would have.

Give your old buddies a call, the little demon inside my head whispered in my ear. It was strange, he had been so quiet for so long. But like an alcoholic walking by a bar, being in Los Angeles caused the demon to come out and tempt me. However, I'd made a promise, and the idea of Krystal was far more powerful than anything my inner demons could tempt me with. Shut the f*ck up, I whispered to it, and went on my way.

I decided, after long deliberation, to hit up the beach. I could still enjoy the waves even without trying to pick up a girl, and the beach wasn't a place I got into trouble too often. I was pretty close to Malibu, so I hopped on the bus and caught the connection over. It was late summer, but still warm, so even as the afternoon approached the evening, the sand was pretty crowded. Not having swim trunks on, I contented myself with walking along the sand and watching the gulls. There were plenty of women around, and more than a few cast me glances that at any other time in my life would have had me turning to go see what I could do, but I felt no urge at all. I had something better in my life.

"Yo! Yo, Castelbon!"

I turned, and felt my good mood disappear. Pete Abbott was one of the biggest pricks in the Los Angeles young, rich, and deluded social circle. More of an * than I was, he'd more than once gotten himself into real trouble with the law, his father dropping enough money to keep him with either probation or various other alternative forms of punishment. The problem was, Pete was a sociopath, plain and simple. For all of the shit he had gotten caught with, he had gotten away with more, and I personally knew of at least three things he'd done that should have gotten him a trip up to San Quentin. While we'd been buddies just after I came out to the West Coast, that friendship soured quickly, and the last time I'd seen him, he'd sworn to kick my ass. Or try to I should say.

"Pete. You don't come to Malibu often."

Pete wasn't big, in fact he was a bit on the small side, but nobody who knew him let his size fool them for long. Being more or less batshit insane gave Pete what some people might call "crazy strength," and he was unpredictable. He also had no concept of mercy or restraint, which is how a few years ago he'd earned the nickname "Rorschach," after the character in the movie Watchmen. Unlike Rorschach, Pete was clearly on the wrong side of the coin almost all the time. "Neither do you, bitch," he said, approaching me. "I remember that last time I saw you, I said I was going to kick your ass."

"Not now Pete, okay? Listen, last time I was an * to you, and I was wrong. Okay? I'm sorry it happened, now can we please just f*cking drop it and go on with our lives?" I honestly didn't remember what the hell Abbott was angry at me about, but it didn't matter. I didn't need another potential run in with the law for having a fight on the beach. Besides, I had a promise to keep.

"Fuck that," Pete said, running towards me. In my mind, I saw two options. The first was to fight back. I had a good fifty pounds on Pete, and about six inches in height. Even with the crazy factor figured in, I had good odds of walking away the victor. On the other hand, I would lose regardless of the outcome. One thing for certain is that I could depend on having a nice, long talk with the cops down at the nearest station. Not cool in any way.

The second option might cost me some Alpha points in the social scene, but since I had Krystal, I didn't really need them, did I? So I turned and ran, sprinting as hard as I could across the semi-packed sand near the water line towards the life guard tower that was about two hundred yards away. I figured that even if Pete did catch me, I had about a hundred people who either heard me say I didn't want to start anything with him, or saw me running away. At that point self defense was pretty much guaranteed.

I have to give it to Pete, he's fast. I was about fifty meters from the life guard tower when Pete tackled me from behind, sending me sprawling into the sand. Pete quickly climbed on top of me and started pounding the back of my neck, pushing my face deeper into the hot, grainy surface. Twisting sideways, I curled my body into a c-shape before exploding sideways and twisting. With my weight advantage, Pete ended up flying off of me, landing on some guy's cooler while the two beach goers were still struggling to get up and get away from the fight. I rolled onto my back and to my feet, half crouched and my hands up to defend myself, when the lifeguard came up and got between us. "Hold on, what's going on?" he asked. Pete climbed to his feet and tried to rush me, but the lifeguard grabbed him around the chest and pulled him back. "What's the problem?"

"Man, the dude you're holding tackled muscle man over there, got thrown off onto my cooler," the one beachgoer said. "Motherf*cker dented the thing too."

The lifeguard looked from Pete to me, then back. "Alright, why's he chasing you down?" he asked me. "You've got a few pounds on him."